Resurgence
by unknown21af
Summary: Lizzie Kaelin and Chimera Tethys knew that their fates were sealed once they exited the arena of the 84th Annual Hunger Games, but with President Snow's new plan to quell the frightening spark ignited by the Victors, their lives are once again thrown into disarray. The thrilling sequel to Spark and Ignition.
1. Resurgence

**C**hapter **O**ne

* * *

_Lizzie Kaelin_

* * *

Snowflakes playfully caress my cheeks and burn the tip of my nose with their frigid touch. I hug my sweater tighter against my body as I cross the street, checking both ways twice to ensure no street vehicles are passing.

_You've made it this far_, I tell myself. _It would be a shame if you up and died now, especially from getting hit by a car._

This thought gives me a shudder. I won't allow my haunted past to come back and force its way into what I have today. Nearly everything is perfect for me now. My father is proud of me, my sisters and I get along better than ever, and even best of all, Liam Kaufman and I are engaged. He got approval from my father and Trista, too. At first, Father was all for it while Trista held back. She reconsidered once Liam proved his worth to our family by getting a real job. He just turned 17 two weeks ago. I'm 16 as of last month, so we'll have to wait a while.

Life is finally the way I want it to be.

Of course, I still have some memories from my time in the arena. I still have the scar above my belly button from where I tried to show up the Capitol. Chimera likely still has hers, unless she's undergone radical surgery like I expected. Besides the constant nightmares that wake me from sleep screaming out, I have just this small effect on me.

I walk through the Victor's Village. Some new houses are being built, especially since my family just moved into the last one six months ago. We're the tenth family living in this development out of an available ten homes. My mentor, Topaz, resides three doors down. My deceased partner Satin's mentor, Jamana, lives between Topaz and I.

I walk up to the front door and hold onto the frosty doorknob for a brief moment before walking in. I collect my breath and prepare for what's to come: Father's appreciative hug and cheek kiss.

The door opens and closes behind me. At first, I brace myself for the worst. However, nothing happens. Not even a "hello!" is heard from the family den. All of the lights are turned on, but it appears no one is home.

"Dad?" I say aloud. "Rose? Trista?"

"We're in the dining room!" Rose chirps from behind the kitchen. Weird, this doesn't usually happen.

I continue down the hall and remove my winter coat, leaving it on a bench by the staircase. I keep going, passing by the picture frames and the bathroom door, until I'm in the kitchen. I freeze when I see who's sitting next to Father.

President Snow is here. I gulp, and I know he's here with more bad news. Again.

I enter the kitchen, and wave to Snow at first. He smiles, but I can tell it's for show in front of my family.

The problem with my sisters is that all of them are smitten with President Snow. Probably because they are so grateful he spared me, despite my act against the Capitol.

"Sit down, Elizabeth," he tells me. It's odd that he calls me Elizabeth, because that isn't even my birth name.

"Uh, it's Lizzie," I correct, and sit down at the table facing him.

"I don't care," he says coldly. Even Father seems a bit taken aback by this remark, and Rose's jaw seems to drop to the floor.

"Excuse me?" I retort. "Don't talk to me like that."

"Quite honestly, Lizzie," he says, with extra emphasis on my name. "You have done nothing but shame me and our beautiful nation of Panem."

I scoff. "You think I don't know that? You check on me every month to remind me how disappointed you are in me."

He doesn't respond right away. He leans back in his chair and rocks his head a little bit.

"Do you know what it feels like to be shamed?" He asks.

"No," I reply.

"Wouldn't you want to get revenge on someone who did you wrong, then? Say, didn't you do that with Satin in the arena after he killed Morgann?"

"No. Pike killed Satin, not me."

"But surely you know what it's like to get back at someone, don't you."

"Yeah, I do. How does it feel, Snow?" I snap. I got him back, alright. I got him back for killing off Pike. I showed him up.

"Lizzie!" Father yells. Snow just simply holds his hand up at him and says nothing more.

"What is this about?" Trista questions, then pushes back out of her chair.

"Lizzie Kaelin, under the order of the Capitol, you are to be arrested for distributing rebellious propaganda!" Snow shouts.

I jump out of my chair, knocking it down. "What?! I'm being arrested?" I scream. Immediately, Trista and Rose stand up too and begin freaking out.

Peacekeepers walk in through the kitchen, seemingly appearing from thin air. One grabs me by the back of the neck and I try to resist. Another grabs my wrists and attaches handcuffs.

"Let me go!" I scream and thrash. I knock over a flower vase with my wildly moving arms, and the glass cuts my knuckles. Then, without warning, one injects me with some sort of serum in the neck. My attempts to fight back weaken, but I keep screaming.

"Why are you doing this?" I yell, but Snow just watches me in pity. I slump into the Peacekeeper's arms, my eyesight slowly fading to black. Before I know it, I'm passed out. I can feel the room spinning and my body hoisted over the shoulder of someone. Rose is crying in the background while Father is trying to convince Snow to let me go. He doesn't really care, he just wants to make sure his perfect little Victor daughter remains in one piece.

I let myself drop into a deep sleep after the front door is swung open.

After what seems like a half second, I awake on the floor of a train. The entire cabin is faintly similar to the same train I rode to the Capitol, except the furnishings are just black concrete floors and the walls are a grey corrugated metal.

My head throbs as I try to stand up. There are a few low watt light bulbs hanging from exposed wires above, and the windows are darkened so even littler light gets out.

When I stand and my vision clears slightly, I realize I'm not alone in the train. On the ground is someone else, and I realize who it is.

"Topaz?" I say gently. She is rolled over onto her stomach and her dark brown hair covers her face. Her back rises and falls, so I know she is breathing, but she must still be sleeping.

I leave her be, and look out the window across the train car. Outside, I see a sight I hoped I would never see for a very long time.

The Capitol.

I begin to hyperventilate a little bit. It's only been six months since I returned home from the Games, and the Victory tour is to start in two more days. I was hoping to bypass ever having to go back, even with Chimera there with me the whole time. I close my eyes and try to breathe and think of what's truly happening to me.

I know I'm arrested, so maybe I'm supposed to spend my jail time in the Capitol. But then why is Topaz with me? Is she arrested as well? I can't help but to wonder why we're on a passenger train, too, if it's just Topaz and I here. I shudder and realize we may not be alone.

I run to the other end of the train to a door that leads to the next car. It opens, and then I see Chimera propped up against the wall. Her hair is now dyed a black color with a bit of purple in it, and she wears heavy eye makeup. Nothing too drastic, considering what she claimed she was going to do when she got back home.

Beside her is her mentor, too. Jorgen O'Hara. He looks puzzled, while Chimera coolly files her nails with an emery board.

"What? Are you lost?" She asks, greeting me with her vicious attitude.

"Where the hell are we?" I ask.

She laughs, but it sounds more like a roar. "Duh. We're getting the death sentence. 'Distributing rebellious propaganda'? Ring any bells?"

I nod. "Why are we going to the Capitol?"

"Because Snow wants everyone else to see. We, well, _you_, gave them a message that rebellion is okay. Pike would be with us too, but she isn't alive anymore. Jorgen here bets we'll get the firing squad, but I bet we're getting some sort of medieval guillotine in the square. At least that will be quick."

I close the door behind me and fall to the floor and sob. Topaz wakes up and has a look of the same confusion I had before this all occurred. She is even more confused by my crying, but we're all silenced when a noxious gas fills the space from the ground up. I don't even have the reflexes to cover my head as I hit the ground.

* * *

"Welcome, welcome, citizens," Snow addresses the audience. The cameras are all on him now, as he gives a mandatory broadcast to all the citizens of Panem.

It's been two days now that I've been in the Capitol. My bruises from my beatings are covered by makeup and the gashes from a brief whipping covered by band aids of various colors. I wear just a simple blue winter sweater and dark jeans and sneakers. Chimera wears a green scarf, black sweater and black slacks with matching, you guessed it, black heels. She can wear open toed shoes, even through the cold, because she didn't get cuts on her feet from her whippings, unlike me.

"As you know, today was the day of the beginning of our annual Victory Tour," he continues.

"However, following recent events, we have decided to cancel the Tour and bring our lovely Victors to the Capitol instead. Please welcome Lizzie Kaelin of District 1 and Chimera Tethys of District 2," he says. That's our cue to walk on stage.

We push through the red velvet curtains and face the cheering crowd. Unfortunately, they have no idea of the Hell we've been through since we got here, and instead believe we're hear because of some other reason than that we're going to be executed.

They all clap and cheer, and I imagine families in every District are brightened to see us take center stage and greet all of our fellow Panemians.

We stand next to Snow, smiling with the perfect level of falseness. I can feel the muscles in my face tense up out of fear of what's to come. We wave at everyone who applauds for us. They may not even love us that much, but they still do it anyways.

"However," Snow interrupts. His voice booms so loudly that the cheering ends abruptly and confusion and fear spread in the crowd below our perch. They all look at each other and murmurs are audible. Even I stop smiling and waving to hear what he has to say.

"We have decided to replace the Victory Tour with a new event instead." My stomach churns at what this could possibly be.

"We are having the 85th Hunger Games early this year. It will be a year to never forget, I assure you. Because it is late December, we will be pleased to say that these Games will hopefully continue into the New Year and end the first week of January. When it does, we will have the newest Victor return home, but only until June time, where he or she will come back and have the honor of conducting the annual reapings for the 86th Hunger Games in every single District, all the while maintaining their Victor duties by conducting their Victory Tour."

"So why don't we get ours?" I blurt aloud. My voice is just barely picked up by the microphone, but everyone in the audience hears what I said anyways. Snow turns to me and gives me a sinister, angry look. His eyebrow arches and his lips remain pursed.

"This season, we at the Capitol have decided to shake the Games up once again." It isn't a Quarter Quell, and we already know that this edition in the Games, things are going to be far more sinister than before.

"Following recent uprising attempts in Districts 6 and 9..." he begins, and this is when my heart truly sinks. Even Chimera gasps out loud and we make eye contact, knowing all well what he's about to say. Lise told us about this all not too long ago, right as we were going home.

"...each tribute this year will be reaped from a pool of confessed, or otherwise suspected, criminals with malicious intent against the Capitol. Do not bite the hand that feeds, citizens. Because of our ongoing generosity, another change this time is we are to have three tributes from each District, just so we can ensure the spark started by Ms. Finley is extinguished at once. One male and one female is compulsory, while the third comes from a random draw of both genders."

"Don't get too comfortable, Capitol. We have also decided to choose three tributes from here, as well. You have eighteen or so convicted criminals that will be brought out of prison for one momentous day to have their own reaping."

I am about to scream out of horror when hands pulls me and Chimera back through the curtains. Some people are already visibly distraught, but not because these Capitolites will be reaped, no; it's because they fear an uprising is present. There's nothing they can do to stop it from happening. And we're the targets in this cruel game.

I'm screaming and kicking, once again. It takes four men to hold me back from attacking Snow. "You asshole!" I yell, still being dragged backstage as the men feverishly take me off of the stage and to a holding cell somewhere while I calm down.

I know my fate. I've survived once only. I will be executed, either way. I have no options but to fight back, even killing Chimera. There can only be one true winner this time around. I have to fight for my life. Any re-do of the actions I made on the last day will not be accepted, and this time he would rather have no winners than two.

I'm thrown into a cell and the door is shut behind me. I hear it locks and someone slides a screen over the opening of the door so I can't keep screaming at them.

I toss myself to the ground and cry. There's a television attached to the wall above and Snow is still addressing the nation. I hear people yelling at him from the audience, even through the walls of this building. I look up at the TV, enraged that I have to go back, if I'm drawn.

That's when he starts talking again.

"The only volunteers accepted will be those in the same reaping pool. Following this, each District's tributes will be taken to the Capitol and the Games will continue as normal, with the eventual Victor pardoned of their crimes. The ones not selected will end up in prison for their sentences, while no executions will be planned for this time."

The television cuts off there and I'm left in this bright white room all alone. Tears still stream down my face and I can't contain my fury any longer.

"Down with the Capitol!" I scream.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, I'm back at it again! Quite a twist, huh? Now, before you guys start looking for an application, let me explain what's going on...

With this story, I decided not to have it be a SYOT. There will not be another in the series because I have very strict standards for all of the tributes. Each and every one of them have to be perfect, so I don't want to have applications open forever just so I can find the best tributes. Not to mention, there will be a huge disadvantage for submitted tributes because there's already Lizzie and Chimera returning!

I hope you understand. I may have a side project set a few years before the events of the 74th Hunger Games for you guys to submit tributes, but it will be pretty basic and not as special as this one... My apologies for this :(

Don't forget to rec/fav/rev! I'd love to hear what you think about the first chapter!


	2. Drawn

**C**hapter **T**wo

* * *

_Aetia Swan_

* * *

_A lot can change with time, _my mother would always tell me during the summers before heading back to school. When I was younger, I would always fear that my friends would abandon me when I returned to school in the fall. I always assumed that I was somehow significantly different than I was before, but on the first day these fears were subdued when all of the girls I had been close to before were back to being my best friends.

Now, her words have a different meaning than they did when I was eleven. What has changed in as little as six months can be characterized by entire change of appearance. After being shamed after my very public, and equally brutal, firing from my job, I moved back home to District Three to find myself crying in the bathroom every night afterwards.

Mom had accepted me with open arms back into her slowly diminishing life, but I was not allowed to move in with her. Now I work as a school nurse, taking care of little kids who have stomach aches or have a splinter on their thumb from recess. It isn't glamorous, but it is quiet.

Well, "was" is a proper term. Now I'm reduced to a jail cell after being arrested for a crime committed six months prior. I was surprised how quickly I was scooped up by the police, having not been under their radars for as long as I have been home. I was even visited by President Snow who has basically told me that there were no hard feelings, as Pike turned out to die in the end anyways. Granted, by the click of a button that he likely ordered.

Living in prison for a crime never once heard of before, I can't help but worry about the upcoming Games. Am I eligible? I would assume so, but then again, Snow did say that he was leaving me out of the Games forever. But is that what he meant? Is he going to pull a fast one on me and have my name get pulled in the end?

Today is the reaping. We're all being taken to the town square anyways, because some of us are actually eligible. The van that my group is being taken in smells like disinfectant and cheap perfume to mask the sharp scent. The fabric surface is covered in a clear plastic, which makes me feel only more like a prisoner. The woman seated next to me, a 50-something year old with surgically enhanced lips and cheeks, is likely the culprit behind the perfume scent. Her orange hair is tied back in a loose ponytail and she faces the front of the van, unmoving.

I glance out the window to my left. My forehead rests on the window and I watch the other cars slowly drive past us. The reaping will not affect them, but instead me. Me and this entire group of imprisoned men and women.

But who cares anymore? Not one word has been spoken about the Hunger Games since the girls won. Besides the initial shock and awe, of course, but what has anyone done to care about the Games? It's numbing to think that out of nowhere, there is sudden peak in interest. Maybe Snow has cared about it all along and now he's proving his reinterest in the Hunger Games. What if this was his plan all along?

At a red light, I sit back up. I catch myself in the rear view mirror. My hair has grown back out more than expected, extending to my earlobes when left down. Not quite long enough for a ponytail, but too long to just leave down. I've had one haircut, a trim, since entering jail.

My once porcelain white skin has also returned to a natural peachy hue, something I've accepted a lot more than the hair. Quite honestly, I was sick of having to wear the lightest shade of blush and lipstick every day without looking awkward. I had intended to let the white flush out of my body in the six weeks it usually takes, but after three I noticed a significant difference.

The van takes a left turn and then I see the stage. Three vans continue down the street to the square ahead of us, while one follows behind us. Five vans each filled with five men and women makes 25 in total. Only 25 of us are eligible to be reaped. But of course, that's between all of us: there's only 7 women, including myself, available. If my name is in that bowl, my chances are raised significantly.

Once we make our way into the square, I notice the size of the crowd. Larger than any other crowd for the seven reapings I attended as a girl, and that's saying something. They all are here to say goodbye to their valiant fighters against the Capitol, since most of us are only here because the bastards wanted to see us die for our crimes against them. They want to make the Capitol know we are still loved and supported. This is their last, and silent, act of defiance against them.

The van parks and the driver hops out of the front seat. He slides open my side door first and grabs me by the arm. My hands are tied together in front of me by a cord. No handcuffs because I'm not dangerous enough, they say. The others have handcuffs, but not me.

We're lead to the stage at once. At first, we were standing in a single file line, but the mayor then showed us the way up to move things along a little bit quicker. The others all follow behind me and we stand again in a line once we're on the stage, behind the other lines of convicts. I let my face droop solemnly and I try not to make direct eye contact with the crowd. There's at least a thousand people standing below us, all watching anxiously for what's to come.

The other criminals probably have friends or family watching them right now. The first time they've come face to face in maybe months, if not years, since their initial jail sentence. My mom is somewhere in the back, I bet, but I was allowed a visit with her eight days ago, so I don't miss her nearly as much as the rest.

The mayor stands up to the microphone. He's a round man in his fifties with curly white hair and he wears an interesting velvet vest over a purple silk top. He is the personification of the word "whimsical", even carrying a bright green cane around with him.

He first greets the audience, and then plays a slideshow. It usually shows a brief history of Panem and a basic explanation of the Hunger Games, but this time it's all too different. The slideshow instead reminds us of our criminal sentences and it places emphasis on how we don't want another Dark Days. Some audience members either scoff or roll their eyes at this.

"And now it's time to draw our first tributes!" He says, smiling. "We'll mix things up this year and start with the boys."

He flounces over to the first bowl. The normally white slips of paper are now a light blue. The girls bowl, with less paper slips than the boys, are made of pink paper slips. There's a third bowl in between the first two, but it's empty. I imagine he's going to mix the contents of the others together to get the randomly drawn bowl, and this makes my stomach churn.

He reaches into the first one. His hand dances around the glass and he grabs one slip, lifting into the air triumphantly. He unfolds it slowly to build tension, and then studies the name for a second.

"Travis Marquez!" He shouts. I recognize the last name, and the guy has a cell right next to mine in jail. He's the quietest man out of the entire prison, but the few times where I've heard him speak he discussed breaking out. He has shaggy brown hair and dark olive skin. He is attractive for a man a decade older than me, and his green eyes cause me to become weak in the knees. _  
_

He walks into the middle of the stage. Oddly, he doesn't react much. He seems vacant, but not in the way that usual tributes do. I think he's been prepared to escape from prison for a very long time now, and this is his way of finally getting freedom.

Then, he takes the boy bowl and dumps the contents into the random bowl. He places the empty one on the stage beneath the pedestals holding it up.

He again walks over to the girls bowl, dramatically picks a name, and reads it. My heart pounds in my chest, hoping my name will not be read. Sweat beads on my forehead lightly as I wait for the name to be announced.

"Nona Shallot!" It isn't me. My heart calms and I breathe deeply. I'm not out of the woods yet, but the boys are much more likely to be drawn in the random pick, right? And I may not even be in the reaping!

I've never seen Nona before, but she's quite the talk around the jail. Nona is a middle aged, purported witch. Some say she has a tattoo of a Satanic pentagram on the back of her neck, just above where her short black hair passes. She is tall, slender and pale. Nona reminds me of my mother, except gothic. The mayor steps out of her way, and for good reason: fifteen years ago, she sent death threats to the mayor with white powder that lead the entire government to want her apprehended. She was arrested after she confessed, and was sentenced to death until the powder was determined to be just baby powder. She instead got an additional charge, treason, and was left to rot in jail for the rest of her life.

The mayor dumps the girl slips into the bowl. He closes his eyes and turns his head away from the bowl, and then mixes the slips together with his free hand. He grabs onto a name, and once again lifts it out.

The color is pink. A few audible gasps come from the other women, in part because they all expected to get away from this like I previously did. The men chuckle lightly, and I gulp as the slip is being opened.

He studies the name. I look into the crowd and I see my mom. She waves gingerly, frowning, but time seems to slow down. Her action barely completes when the first vowel rolls off of the mayor's tongue.

"Aetia Swan!" He calls. My mother drops her hand to cover her mouth. Terror builds on her face and my eyes close spontaneously. My heart doesn't ferociously beat in my chest, but instead it thump...thump...thumps like usual. My fate is now sealed. Aetia Swan, tribute to the 85th Hunger Games. I step forward, pushing through the other tributes, until the mayor grabs onto my hand. I reach for his arm, and he leads me to the front of the stage, between Nona and Travis.

"Your tributes from District Three!" He announces and the crowd claps, unenthusiastic.

_You should be happy, _I think to myself. _We're going to die all for you._

* * *

**Author's Note: **And that's that for District Three. Next, we'll have maybe two more reapings and then continue from there. The blog is not yet up because it has significant spoilers (duh), but in about three updates it'll be up for you all to see.

Until next time, all.


	3. Return

**C**hapter **T**hree

* * *

_Katniss Everdeen_

* * *

_"Peeta, run!" _I screamed, the muttations tailing us with their vicious teeth glaring under the moonlight. I could almost see the blood stained into their sharp canines.

Peeta and I made it to the clearing, unscathed despite the shaking fear that made our bones tremor as we climbed onto the Cornucopia.

_"Where's Cato?" _Peeta asked, and all I could do was shrug. He was no where to be found, and I knew that once he was here, we would likely be killed in an instant. I loaded my bow while we waited.

But suddenly, he hopped onto Peeta's back. We fought for a few minutes, with me being pressed towards the muttations eagerly biting at my braid to pull me down and finish me off for Cato. But when Peeta shoved him off, it only took moments for Cato to get behind him and hold the knife to Peeta's throat.

I aimed at them both. The adrenaline caused me to shake nervously as I planned my next move. I could shoot Cato, but kill Peeta once the two fell to the mutts, or I could let Cato kill Peeta so I could shoot him later.

Peeta pointed to Cato's hand, placed right on his shoulder. I breathed deeply as I prepared to hit him there, and then I shot the arrow.

Time seemed to slow by a thousand times. It came dramatically close to the point where I thought gravity would pick up faster than time seemed to progress and my only arrow would fall to the ground, right at Cato's feet.

Instead, the arrow hit Peeta in the neck. I screamed when the blood sprayed out, and screamed twice as loud when Peeta began to fall with Cato not long afterwards. It took ten minutes before Peeta's cannon fired and minutes later, Cato died as well. At first, I was in shock that I had just won the Hunger Games at only 16 years old. The third Victor from District 12 ever.

It all came at the cost of killing the boy I have ever loved the most.

* * *

I wince in pain as Gale squeezes my arm possessively. I'm brought back to present time, standing at the door of our home. Masey is carried in my mother's arms and Prim wraps a scarf around her neck before we must bear the cold snow for our venture down to the Square.

It has been a little under forty-eight hours since President Snow made his announcement that all criminals of Panem will be eligible for a surprise Hunger Games reaping. The fact that he instated such a random occurrence flaunts his power as President.

It has also been twenty-four hours since Prim and I were arrested. We were booked for various charges, including treason and distribution of rebellious propaganda. Because these "crimes" were not deadly and the reaping was the following morning, we were subsequently released and sent back home. The entire family gathered in the dining room that night after little Masey was put to bed and discussed our options. It was inevitable that we would be gone after tomorrow because we have a probability of getting drawn, and if we weren't then we would go to jail to serve our sentences.

Afterwards, I left to go and find Noran Udall. Turns out, he was also arrested for the same reasons and charged with the same crimes as I was, leading me to believe Snow intended for us to be reaped together. We agreed to meet tomorrow before the reaping, but unfortunately neither of us made it to the other's house in time. It's now ten until it begins, so we'll just have to meet downtown.

"Ready?" Gale asks me. I look up to him solemnly. His features sag due to the lack of sleep these past two nights with dark circles illuminating his once vibrant eyes.

"Ready".

The four of us, plus Masey, depart. Outside, we see photographers with their cameras flashing. Noran and his roommate, Lydia, are together just across the sidewalk and not far ahead is Posy Hawthorne and Obsidia Beader. Posy and Obsidia are next door neighbors, which explains their hands being held tightly. The Hawthorne family, oddly, is not with Posy and Gale seems concerned that his sister is alone.

As we traverse down the street, a Peacekeeper vehicle drives past and then the siren blares. The photographers all disperse and flee, as photographing the reaping event without permission can bring hefty fines. Even though we have not made it to the venue, the paparazzi still fear any possible charges brought against them, especially on a day like this.

Masey whines and covers her ears before burrowing her head into Mom's shoulder. Her hair is tied into cute pigtails and she wears a white sweater with matching heavy pants and snow boots. We keep silent as our feet crunch on the fresh laid snow.

We arrive at the town square right on time. The anthem begins and our mayor takes the stage. This year, we do not have an escort, but instead a mean looking Peacekeeper without his helmet on. He sits next to where the mayor did and has his arms crossed.

All criminals do not check in, but are immediately ushered by other Peacekeepers with drawn assault rifles down the aisle and up stage. We're identified immediately and picked from the group. Prim and I grab hands and Noran joins us. He gloomily stares into my eyes while we make the walk up stage.

He whispers, "Good luck, Katniss."

"And Prim," I remind him.

"No, just you. You'll understand why in a moment."

This confuses me and I glare at him, puzzled. I don't say anymore.

We stand up on stage next to an assortment of criminals. All of them are significantly older than us, making my group stick out like a sore thumb. The mayor clears his throat and begins his drawling speech to the crowd. The crowd is full of young and old. Instead of there being separate sections by age like previous reapings, everyone just piles inside the roped areas and plead with their eyes for all of us to be strong.

Obviously, it takes a different spin than the usual reaping because this "year" is significantly different from the rest. I joked before that this should just be called the 84-and-a-halfth Hunger Games. The mayor basically tells the audience that we're all here because President Snow wants all of the criminals to be killed.

"And with that, we will begin the reaping. We must have one male, one female, and one tribute of either gender drawn."

He begins by walking across the stage to the first bowl. Pink slips fill the crystal orb, so I know it is female. Around me, there are no more than ten women available, but there are easily thirty slips inside of the reaping bowl. He drops his hand inside like a crane and fishes out two slips of paper, but lets one go after realizing his accidental error.

"The female tribute for this winter's Games is..." He opens the slip and there is a collective gasp before everyone holds their breath.

"...Yandora Gervaise." Everyone lets out a sigh, but not before there is a strangled sound coming from the audience.

"I volunteer!" Someone announces. I roll my eyes out of habit because I realize it has become a "thing" now to volunteer for the less fortunate after I volunteered for Prim.

The mayor groans quietly when the woman dives under the ropes to walk up stage. Noran and I's jaws drop when we realize that this woman is Obsidia Beader.

"Obsidia?!" He gasps. "You can't volunteer!"

"Oh yeah?" She says. Obsidia immediately smacks the Peacekeeper who comes to usher her up stage. Hard enough, actually, that his helmet comes off and hits the ground. When she does this, four other Peacekeepers aim their guns at her head.

"I'm a criminal. I have to be eligible now, and I volunteer."

Yandora Gervaise has already gotten into position where she should be, but there is a gleam of hope written across her face. The mayor waves her off, pardoning her from her tribute position. She appears like she may have a heart attack out of shock, but calmly steps back into her original position.

"Your female tribute," The mayor growls. "Obsidia Beader!"

Some clap for Obsidia, while others stare at her in shock. Such an act could have resulted in her immediate shooting, but some are probably saying she's doomed anyways. Even touching a Peacekeeper has gotten people viciously beaten before, and for her to walk away with not even a retaliation means that the Peacekeepers are letting her go, just this once, to die at someone else's hands.

Obsidia stands on stage, and the Peacekeeper escort walks up behind her and handcuffs her.

The mayor walks over to the bowl with the blue paper slips. The boys. Gale stares at me intensely from the audience. I partially want to acknowledge him, but cannot.

He reaches his hand inside, grabbing just one slip this time. Noran's hand tightens slightly around mine and Prim looks over at him as a form of reassurance.

"Noran Udall!"

Noran lets go. I close my eyes and Prim just sinks down to her knees. It's no secret that Prim has a crush on Noran, and she makes no effort to conceal her feelings. She gasps and then begins to sob quietly into her free hand. I clasp tightly around the other and fall to my knees to comfort her.

I'm not watching, but I assume the mayor is dropping the male slips into the female bowl now, to select the third and final tribute from District 12. I realize now that two of my former Victors are now drawn for the Hunger Games, and I will likely lose both of them. Prim wipes her tears and stops crying for just a moment while the mayor digs out the last slip of paper.

It is pink, and my heart begins to thump hard. Part of me hopes that Yandora Gervaise will be called again, but it's unlikely. There are only ten girls that could be drawn, and nine if you don't count her first draw.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

A wild gasp from nearly everyone surrounding us hits me at the same time. While there have been exaggerated gasps of shock for the other tributes drawn, Prim's is especially hard to swallow.

Before I react, I am taken to my youth. Ten and a half years ago, I nearly lost my sister. What compelled me to stand in her place back then has welled up inside now, even though she is in no immediate danger.

But as her big sister, I react before I think. I stand up, and then say, loud and proud...

"I volunteer."

No surprise there, really. But what does take me by surprise is Gale, suddenly lurching forward and leaping to get on stage to stop me from making the same decision I made a decade ago. He tells me to stop, but I continue to step forward to Obsidia and Noran. There are shouts from Peacekeepers and citizens alike, but Gale does not stop.

"Katniss, no!"

The same Peacekeeper who was hit by Obsidia steps in the way of Gale and pushes him out of the way. Gale doesn't immediately fall, but loses balance and ends up smacking into the stage. I scream out and run off the stage, horrified.

"Gale, get out of here! I made my choice!"

He moans, but sits up.

"Katniss, don't do this to us! We have a daughter to take care of, don't fucking do this to me!"

"There's Prim and my mom to help you! It's what I had to do, Gale!"

"You won't even go near a bow, let alone shoot it. You won't live!"

The Peacekeepers swarm and yank me up by my arms. I don't resist because Gale does that for me.

"Let her go!" He shouts. He shoves a Peacekeeper and the others draw their weapons.

"Step back, Hawthorne, or we will shoot!" One of them screams from behind the helmet. I try to kick Gale back, thrashing him off of me.

"Gale!" My mother shouts from the audience. Masey is crying and the audience all hold their hands over their mouths.

"Katniss-!" Gale screams, but I'm simply too far out of reach for him to get me.

He reacts without thinking, too. I turn my head to stop the tears from becoming visible while he shouts my name, but the sound of hard plastic colliding with meaty fist and then metal causes me to face him again.

In a split second, there unfolds a scene of another Peacekeeper being knocked down. Gale visibly punched him in the body, before this one hit the stage, too. The helmet rolls off and blood trickles from this guy's nose.

"Gale, stop it!" I scream, but it is futile.

The other one he knocked down before is now standing behind. He raises his gun and pulls the trigger.

Three loud bangs fire and chaos ensues. I scream and am dragged up the stairs. Mom and Posy are seized by other guards and some citizens start to run from the square. Gale's body hits the ground with a shuddering thump and I know what has become of him. I do not cry now because I cannot react. I feel one emotion, one emotion only, and that is hatred.

Hatred that we are here. That the Capitol is once again destroying everything I have ever loved. I never wanted to play their game, but I am bound forever by the chains of the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Author's Note: **We'll see one more reaping before the rest of the story unfolds.

Until next time.


	4. Choice

**C**hapter **F**our

* * *

_Esmeree Yostman_

* * *

"Oh, God, there's going to be an uprising in District 12, too," Letius says, running into the downstairs office where I currently sit.

"What happened?" I ask, preoccupied with the non-fiction novel on the history of economics given to me as a present during law school. "Let me guess, the reaping involved another sick girl with one foot and everyone was sad she got picked?"

"No, not at all, Esme. Come here, look!"

I roll my eyes, shut the book, and walk through the office into the sitting room, following my oldest daughter's boyfriend. The television is blaring and Letius stands beside the black leather couch that four of my children sit, tensely gripping onto each others' hands or their knees.

"What happened?" I ask. The television is on a Capitol-run, liberal oriented news station that discusses important stories occurring in our country today. The broadcaster, an Asian woman with unnaturally blonde hair, shows a clip of the District 12 reaping.

"I will warn you, the following footage you are about to see is extremely graphic," she warns. Immediately, we see a tall, muscular man shoving a Peacekeeper right into the stage. Some people are screaming and then another Peacekeeper shoots him a few times right in the stomach and chest. The clip cuts off there.

"Well, what's new?" I deadpan. "This happens hourly here, why is it a big deal over there?"

My eldest daughter, Etta, glares at me dirtily.

"Mom, that is Gale Hawthorne. That is a _very big deal_."

I stare back, unsure of what to exactly say, so I just say, "And?"

Letius faces me. "Katniss Everdeen's husband was just killed. She volunteered again for her sister and he tried to stop her from doing it. District 12 has gone absolutely mad now."

I scoff. "Big deal, they'll get over it! Katniss is no symbol of hope, I tell you. If they want someone to idolize, they can go back to loving that little bitch that died this year."

"Mom-" Etta tries, but I leave the room. _I have just enough time before I have to leave to finish this chapter of my book_, I tell myself. _But not enough time to care about these has-beens_. I close the office door once I walk in, and then lock it.

But instead of reading my book, which was left in the chair as I left, I walk over to the framed newspaper article hanging in front of the desk.

I stare at the inserted picture. The headline reads, "Mayor's Niece Jailed!". The picture is my own, taken while I was in court four years ago. I was on trial for arson that ended up demolishing an entire building. I maintained my innocence until the grand jury found me guilty, at which time I lost my original plea deal of ten years and was given twenty-five.

The article beside my picture is as follows:

* * *

_Former mayor Whitney Collough's niece was found guilty by grand jury of arson. While originally charged with second-degree arson, Esmeree Yostman [pictured] denied to enter a plea deal that would lower the amount of time sentenced in prison. Following her trial, Yostman was sentenced to twenty five years in a minimum security facility and was given a fine of one million dollars. The former parts manufacturing plant that which Yostman set fire to on the night of April 10th has been condemned and scheduled for demolition. _

_Yostman comes from a prominent political family and earned a degree in politics after losing the mayoral bid at age 35. She ran the manufacturing plant in order to establish a financially successful career, but sold the business after two years for an undisclosed sum of money. A mother of seven children, Esmeree has been described as caring, intellectual, and honest. Her motives for starting the fire are currently unknown, but speculation claims she set fire to her business in order to rebel against the recent tax laws that have struck the District especially hard and that her business was going under due to this, meaning her sum of money would vanish. No word given on when Esmeree will be jailed, but it is likely she will surrender herself before the end of the week._

* * *

Some information given was inflated and was purely speculation, except for my motive. I did burn the business down in order to rebel, but not against the strict laws that prevented it from growing. Not at all, actually. I did it because of the Capitol.

There's no doubt that I hate them, too. There have been people burning the flag of Panem in the town square, or vandalizing government property all to tell the Capitol how much they hate them. I just did it in a sneakier way. My business made enough money to pass the tax law, which would really just affect small businesses anyway, and also enough for the Capitol to still earn tax profit. It manufacturing parts for hovercrafts and the trains, so with something as necessary as parts in District Six, it had to go.

The Capitol lost a lot of money at first, mostly because they had to now give back everyone who worked at the plant their wages and then spend time to help them find new jobs. It was not necessary, but they knew they would later force whoever did this to pay it all back after they were arrested. Then, the government had to replace all of the parts for hovercrafts and the priceless blueprints for future crafts were lost. It could have caused a massive economic collapse here, all because I wanted the Capitol to feel the burn, but it didn't.

Instead, I was found and arrested. I took the arrest in stride and everyone in my family already knew it was me. My seven kids all stood at the door and waved goodbye as I was escorted to a police cruiser and driven down to the station for booking. An arrest warrant was originally made, but then a search warrant at my house was done, too, just so I could be taken away as quick as possible.

I quickly check the time on the nearest clock. 12:03. I'm late for the reaping.

I grab my scarf draped around the office chair and wrap it around my neck snugly and leave my office. Already, my other daughter Evanescence stands by the door. "Ready to go?" She asks. I nod simply and her solemn expression tells me everything.

"I'm not changing my mind about this, either. I have made up my mind an hour ago and none of you can alter that."

Evanescence sighs as we exit the house. A brief goodbye is stifled from the living room from the other family members who waited behind. Evanescence only decided to come because she wanted to be the one to say goodbye. Sixteen years old and brave enough to be seen in public with her criminal mother.

We continue walking down the path that leads directly to the town square. Just one block away, but the distance feels like a mile and a half. The silence is deafening. Is Evanescence blocking me out because she doesn't want me to volunteer? Is she trying to mentally shut me out so I at least reconsider before I do what I was destined to do?

"It isn't working, Evanescence. I will do exactly what I feel will bring honor back to this family," I bark, "and there is nothing you can do to change that!"

I will volunteer and win. Nothing can stop my wrath.

* * *

**Author's Note: **FINALLY you guys get an update from me! Nearly two months, phew.

I apologize for this chapter being extremely short and boring, but I totally lost interest in this specific chapter early on and I had to revise it profusely. In all, I'm just glad you can have a little something before we move along.

There will be a chapter next weekend at the latest and then I'll go back to my usual Thursday updates. I have to rework some of plans and even re-read Spark and Ignition as well as all of my notes just to see the mindset I was in while writing these originally. I cannot wait to get the ball rolling once more for you all! Thanks for being so patient :)


	5. Acceptance

**C**hapter **F**ive

* * *

_Riella Sanjay_

* * *

Sheets of frigid rain and hail beat down onto the hard concrete and bounced off of the taut black umbrella. A man in a dark suit holds the umbrella and the three of us are quickly ushered into the train, being followed by two Peacekeepers. Behind us are citizens of our District, as well as paparazzi flashing photos of the three tributes from District Eight. The older man in our trio is significantly slower and he seems to be pretty frail, but he is trying to move faster. The other one, a boy in his late teens, pays no regard for anyone else and walks like a punk: shoulders slouched, chin up, and pants sagging.

Ten minutes ago, I became the female tribute for my District. There was not a lot of time to gather my thoughts, except that I will mostly likely die within the next week. My father did not even have the decency to come to the reaping, let alone avoid another glass of wine for long enough to turn on the television and watch. He's probably still unaware that I'm going to be gone for now, but likely forever.

Once the Peacekeepers enter in behind, the sliding door closes and locks shut. A siren blares outside and the train begins to move slowly, picking up speed. From my view out the window, I see several people hold their three first fingers up in protest and as a sign of whatever rebellion they believe to be going on. I still hear a faint patter, patter of the rain and hail mix above head and take a seat on a leather couch across from a glass coffee table lined with teapots and mugs.

The Peacekeepers tell us to not move, and both exit to the next car. For a good minute, none of us look at each other. The tributes of District Eight. But the older one is the first to break the coldness in the room by looking at the other and giving him a dirty look.

"Either you pull up your pants, son, or I'll have to teach you a lesson in being a real man." The old man is named Richman, but I believe he mentioned to the Peacekeepers earlier to just call him Rick.

The younger one, who's name I still do not know, grabs his jeans by the waist line (which is past his groin) and yanks them up as if he's intending on making them go past his belly button. He has a simple black belt tied around himself, too, but it's also loose.

"What's the point in even wearing a belt if your pants still don't fit right?" I jeer, folding my arms and lifting one leg so my heel rests on the edge of the glass table.

He turns to face me and reciprocates the same disgusted look I give him and clenches his jaw. I know he does this because I see the muscles near his temples flexing.

He doesn't bother defending himself, so he crosses to the opposite side of the car and sits in a booth table and glares out the window. Rich comes towards me and for a brief moment I think he is going to sit down next to me, but he instead continues to another chair next to the couch. The Peacekeepers eventually return but one exits shortly afterwards. We were told that we were not going to have an escort, nor any mentors, during our stay in the Capitol. We are on our own until the Games begin.

"Who the hell are you?" The boy asks the Peacekeeper. It should be obvious by now that this kid just feeds off of the anger of others, taking it all in with the hopes of some sort of retaliation and therefore a reason to bicker or physically fight.

The Peacekeeper presses a button on the side of his white helmet and the dim glass slides open.

"You are not allowed to talk to us, Trey. Follow the rules or else you will be apprehended." He presses the button once more and the glass slides closed. The Peacekeeper takes a seat at the nearest booth and rests his gun down in his lap.

Trey scoffs as the Peacekeeper walks away and I can't help but roll my eyes. He acts like such a child. He's definitely not someone I will want to get to know later on and I imagine he'll end up dead beside the Cornucopia on day one. He has not even spoken more than a paragraph and I know he's a cocky son of a bitch.

* * *

An hour or more passes and I rub my neck with my hands. I moved my position, and sitting on the bench beside the window does not allow a lot of room for comfort so occasionally my neck will stiffen a bit and I'll have to repeat the process a few times. Besides Richman asking me if I'd like a biscuit and glass of fruit juice, the train car has been pretty silent.

Then again, the obnoxious sound of Trey's shoes squeaking on the chair he has propped his legs on seems to bother me more than it should and the room will be less quiet should I yell at him to stop. It's as if he is intimidating me!

My dad would tell me in this situation to just roll my eyes and ignore him. Even though it is a good idea to just let it go, I know that I would do exactly what he advised against just to prove the point that he can't force me to do anything.

Our relationship is rocky at best, the last time we got along was when I actually ate the bacon and eggs breakfast he cooked for me a few months ago before I got locked up in the juvenile detention center. He said that it'd be my last home cooked meal and I should at least consider it, but to me it just seemed like a bribe. He's not a bad dad admittedly and he surely has little discipline on me. However, I'm just not a good daughter. There have been mistakes I made before that have affected our relationship negatively but I never apologized for them. I blamed him for mom walking out on us even though he was more in the dark about her departure than I was, since at least she kissed me on the forehead during the middle of the night as she was about to run off forever. Does this make me a bad person, or just a shitty daughter? I vote for the latter.

When I was in junior high, I was confronted by a trio of bad girls who had been running the school since preschool when they would trade out their candy bars in exchange for the other children working as their minions on the playground. For example, I would get a chocolate bar if I made sure none of the other kids used the monkey bars, or a lollipop if I gave all of my quarters I would find buried in the sandbox. These girls grew up with more sinister things in mind, such as throw wild parties with illegal drugs offered or arrange small groups of the most trusted individuals to commit petty theft at the market with them.

The girls offered me a spot in their group, after I was proven to be diligent for over eight years of school with them. It was seventh grade, which at that point other girls my age were still wearing pig tails and figuring out the use of a bra, while I was stealing hand-cut gems and expensive jewelry from poor vendors around the city square. I hadn't been caught because I was just a natural klepto, but that was just the beginning.

By the time I became a ninth grader, my dad was catching onto my sudden wealth. It wasn't like I was coming home every day with thousands of dollars, but why would I be wearing diamond earrings and beautifully crafted bracelets? He didn't ask much, but he probably knew what wad going on. One of the girls, Daphne, wasn't allowed over when he wasn't home after he suspected she had stolen a wristwatch. It wasn't her, however, but instead another girl named Molly. The third girl, Viviane, stopped hanging out with us after she felt replaced by her friends by me, so we had to beat her up as a way of expelling her from the group. She would later become the biggest rat I had ever known.

Six months ago, Molly and Daphne were arrested together for breaking and entering into a shop downtown. I wasn't present, but when Molly got released after her wealthy mother was able to post bail, Molly explained that the shop owner had installed security alarms that alerted the Peacekeepers quicker than expected. The store owner was wealthy too, so Molly enlisted me in an effort to break into her home and steal anything I could that would help pay Daphne's bail.

I went to her apartment and broke in through a window. The rush of committing a crime like that was overtaking me, and I accidentally slipped when I went inside and slammed into a coffee table in the living room. A bedroom door opened and out walked Viviane, and then I realized it was a set up. Viviane had gathered former information I had said about the other two girls being sluts and bitches, so she devised the entire plan with Molly before she got arrested.

Right after, I too was arrested and booked into jail. I plead guilty to breaking and entering and got a plea deal that in exchange for more prison time (on top of the month I got), I would go to behavioral counseling classes.

Big mistake to avoid those, I guess, because I never went to any of them. Last week, I got sentenced to 180 days in jail and it would start immediately. Until we all had this bomb dropped on us that all criminals would be eligible to be reaped.

So now I'm here. Molly and Daphne were smugly standing front and center while I was reaped into the Hunger Games, their flawless faces broken into a sinister smile. I assume Viviane was somewhere in the audience too, but not wanting to be as obvious as I was. Part of me still wonders if they had known I would be imprisoned and reaped, so this was some big conspiracy against me, Riella Sanjay.

It's not easy being labelled a criminal at my age. Rather an embarrassment. Dad was present to every court meeting I had, but never once was on my side. He seemed to be the victim to my crime and wanted me punished to the full extent of the law. When I was able to be at home, he hovered over me as if I would magically steal again. It was my fault for falling into the wrong crowd like I did, but maybe all I wanted was to be accepted. We all strive for acceptance at our age, no?

But then I wonder about Trey. Rumor has it, he's here on a felony drug charge. Which doesn't seem all that bad, but District 8 doesn't have a whole lot of criminals to pick from during the reaping, so I guess he was just included anyways. I wonder how he feels about his criminal life, he's only nineteen. Barely an adult and already spending time behind bars because he was too stupid to get off the crack pipe.

Richman sneezes violently and I'm shuddered from my daydream. Both Trey and I divert our attention to him, but Rich just waves us off.

"Bless you," I say. Trey mumbles it to him and Rich just thanks us.

After a while, he clears his throat.

"So why are you two here? You all look pretty young to be criminals, so tell me. What're'ya in for?"

I don't immediately respond and neither does Trey. It's awkward at first because it seems like Richman wasn't even talking to us. When Trey doesn't say anything at all but instead stares at me as if he's waiting for my response, I begin to tell them.

"Breaking and entering, then never going to my court-mandated behavioral adjustment sessions. Pretty much just snowballed from petty theft down to jail time."

Richman shakes his head. "So you must've been part of that, what is it called... Crime ring? Those three girls who broke into houses?"

"Yeah, I guess so. For a time, it seemed like I was the only one who was actually going out and doing anything. One of them got arrested and they all stopped for a while after that."

"So why'd you do it?" Trey sneers. "No one held a gun up to your head and forced you to break into anything. Now look where you are, dying for the homies who didn't even give a big enough damn to be here with you." He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

"Not sure how you're one to talk, crackhead. You probably got arrested 'cus they found a needle in your arm when you passed out in an alley from an OD!" Richman barked.

"Actually, they found me because my homie gave an anonymous tip! I had a warrant out because I broke into a car and when the Peacekeepers found me, they also found his stash in my back pocket. He set me up, you don't know what the hell you're talking about, old man!" Trey starts to yell and hops up onto his feet.

Richman stands up, too, and I fear they're going to get physical, bit it really turns out to be a bitching match on who's right about how big of a punk Trey really is.

I stand up too and try to break it up. "Guys, guys!" I yell, holding my two arms out to push them away. Trey starts to throw his hands up and points fingers, while spit begins to fly from Richman's mouth. Both are turning beet red and veins bulge from both of their necks. Gross.

Finally, I shove Trey back.

"Get the hell off of him, jackass!" I yell. Right as he tries to get back up, the Peacekeepers who had both left the room a while ago, dart back in with their guns drawn.

"Halt!" One says, and then aims his gun at Trey. He pulls the trigger and a dart flies out, hitting him in the chest.

Trey collapses instantly when the other Peacekeeper shoots Richman. I hold onto his shirt and ease him to the ground.

Not before one of them reloads and shoot me, directly in the throat.

* * *

I am roused from my sleep by an Avox woman, dressed in a red gown. My head throbs and a welt has formed right where the dart struck me in the neck. The Avox grabs my hand and leads me up from the ground where I must have been sleeping since we were knocked out.

Speaking of "we", where the hell did the others go? A quick scan of the train car shows no sign of Trey or Richman. In fact, the lights are dimmed and the movement has stopped, so I suppose we're just parked at a gas station. But what about them? Were they arrested?

I ask the Avox girl, "How many days has it been since we left my District?" She holds up two fingers.

Two days! Have I been knocked out for two whole days?! We left in the early afternoon, too, and it's totally dark outside, so it must be nearing the third day.

The girl leads me out of the car and down the steps of the train. We're inside a tunnel, possibly underground. Maybe it isn't night time, but it sure feels like it. We enter through a metal door and walk down a hallway to the elevators.

She presses up, and then signals for me to go inside. She doesn't come in herself, but does lean inside to press the number 8, and then steps back as the doors close.

My heart beats faster and faster as the elevator rises. I notice the back wall is made of glass, but at first all I see is concrete.

Until I reach the level marked as "lobby". The concrete disappears from view and I realize I'm in the apartment complex that I will be staying at. The elevator continues to climb and I see myriads of Capitol citizens, old and young, and Peacekeepers. I'm in the Capitol.

The elevator finally stops at floor 8 and the doors open. I walk inside to my apartment, and Richman is standing a few feet from the door. He was waiting for me!

"Where are we?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

"Hell," Richman responds. "We're here to die."

* * *

**Author's Note: **The blog is up.

I decided to post the link to it because you all have gotten a very good glimpse at the tributes I didn't want to spoil *cough* District 12 *cough* but please keep in mind that there will be one spoiler in there for next chapter. Tell me if you catch who it is ;)

But yeah, the blog is at unknown21af . blogspot . com (remove the spaces, obviously). There, you will find all of the tributes and their criminal charges. Some of their crimes will be slightly different from what is said in the story because I gave a very generic name to their crimes, like "protesting". For example, Esmeree Yostman has "protesting" and while she didn't protest in the streets during a demonstration or something, she was protesting the Capitol by burning her business down.

I'm glad to have gotten this chapter out earlier than I expected, and there will be another chapter next Thursday. That one will probably be a lot longer.

ALSO, these Hunger Games will not follow the same format as the other Hunger Games. There will not be a tribute parade, nor any interviews. I'm just going to have training for three days, then a little piece where Caesar Flickerman will introduce each tribute right before they board a train that takes them to the arena. These tributes are not being celebrated ;)


End file.
